A Beau for Katie
Authors: Emma Miller
The Housekeeper's Surprise Match
Agreeing to work for two weeks as a housekeeper to help a family in need seems like a good idea to Katie Byler. But when Katie sees the handsome, youngâand singleâFreeman Kemp for the first time, she wonders what she's gotten herself into. Freeman may be considered a catch, but the stubborn young man is driving strong-willed Katie to distraction. When the two of them decide to play matchmaker for Freeman's elderly uncle, though, their feud takes a different turn. The spark between them is strong, but can Katie and Freeman reach common ground to find their happily-ever-after?
“Maybe you could find your razor. You're badly in need of a shave.”
She hesitated, then continued, “I could do it for you, if you like. My brother broke two fingers on his right hand once and Iâ”
“No. Let me do it by myself.”
She went to change the sheets and returned to the bathroom to find him still sitting at the sink. There were uneven patches of beard on his cheeks and a trickle of blood down his chin. Wordlessly, he handed the razor to her, grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut.
She'd thought that shaving Freeman would be no different than shaving her brothers, but as she stood there looking at him, she realized it was.
Her pulse quickened, and she felt a warm flush beneath her skin. Shaving Freeman was more intimate than she'd supposed it would be and she was thankful that his dark eyes were closed.
“All done.”
“Thank you.”
“You look a lot better.” And he did, more than better. He had the kind of good looks that cautious mothers warned their daughters against.
Emma Miller
lives quietly in her old farmhouse in rural Delaware. Fortunate enough to be born into a family of strong faith, she grew up on a dairy farm, surrounded by loving parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Emma was educated in local schools and once taught in an Amish schoolhouse. When she's not caring for her large family, reading and writing are her favorite pastimes.
Books by Emma Miller
Love Inspired
The Amish Matchmaker
A Beau for Katie
Lancaster Courtships
The Amish Bride
Hannah's Daughters
Courting Ruth
Miriam's Heart
Anna's Gift
Redeeming Grace
Visit the Author Profile page at
Harlequin.com
for more titles.
Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002
A BEAU FOR KATIE
Emma Miller
He who finds a wife finds what is good
and receives favor from the Lord.
â
Proverbs
18:22
Chapter One
Millside Amish
Community,
Kent County,
Delaware
July
S
uddenly apprehensive, Katie Byler reined in her horse on the bridge, easing the buggy to a standstill. Next to the dam was the feed-and-grain mill, a business that had been there since colonial times and was one of the few water-powered mills left in Delaware. On the far side was the millpond, a large stretch of water surrounded for the most part by trees. Out in the middle of the pond, a pair of Canada geese bobbed, and overhead, iridescent dragonflies and some sort of birds swooped and fluttered. It was a beautiful sight with the morning light sparkling on the blue-green water, and on any other day, Katie would have taken delight in it. Today, however, she had serious concerns on her mind.
She may have let Sara Yoder talk her into something she'd regret.
Behind her, Sara, the county's only Amish matchmaker, stopped her mule and climbed down from her buggy. “What's wrong?” She came to stand beside Katie's cart. “Why did you stop?” Sara raised her voice to be heard above the rush of water under the bridge. “We're blocking traffic.”
Katie made a show of looking in both directions, up and down the road. It was a private lane, and anyone using it would be coming to or leaving the mill. At the moment, the parking lot in front of the mill had only one car and it was parked, with no one inside. The lane behind her was empty. “
Ne
, I don't think so,” she answered in Deitsch, the German dialect that the Amish used among themselves.
“Don't tell me you're having second thoughts.” Sara folded her arms over her bosom and gave Katie
the look
from beneath her black bonnet, the look that had given Sara a reputation for taking no nonsense. “You said you would accept the job, and I gave Jehu my word that you would start this morning.”
“I know I agreed to it, but now...” She met Sara's strong-minded attitude with her own. She liked the middle-aged woman, admired her really. Sara had gumption. She was an independent woman in a traditional society where most widows depended on fathers or sons to provide for them.
Katie narrowed her gaze on the matchmaker. Sara didn't have the pale Germanic skin of most Amish; she was half African American, with a coffee-colored complexion and dark, textured hair. Katie knew Sara's heritage because she'd asked her the first time they'd met. “How do I know that you're not trying to match me with Freeman Kemp?” she asked. “Because if you are, I'll tell you right off, it's a hopeless cause. He's one man I'd never consider for a husband.”
Katie and Freeman had clashed when they were volunteering as helpers at a wedding the previous November. She'd been in charge of one of the work parties, and she'd made a suggestion about the way the men were loading chairs into the church wagon. Freeman had taken affront and had behaved immaturely, stalking off to sulk while the other men continued to work. It hadn't been an argument exactly, but it was clear that although her way was far more sensible, Freeman was offended by being told what to do by a woman. Katie couldn't have cared less. Growing up with older brothers, she'd learned early to speak up for herself, and if Freeman disliked her because of her refusal to be submissive, that was his problem.
Sara arched one dark brow and sighed. “Poor Freeman is laid up in bed with a broken femur. He hasn't asked me to find him a wife, and if he
did
discover he needed one this week, I doubt you're in any danger of him running you down and dragging you before the bishop.” She shrugged. “It's because of his injury that he needs a housekeeper. You have no need for concern about your reputation, if that's your worry. Freeman's grandmother lives right next to him in the little house. She's in and out of Freeman's place all day long, and she'll provide the chaperoning the elders expect.”
“That's not what worries me,” Katie muttered. Sara was just like her: she never minced words. “I just don't want any misunderstandings. Freeman Kemp is one of those men all the single girls moon over. You know, him being so good-looking and so well-to-do.” She nodded in the direction of the mill and surrounding property, the farmhouse and little
grossmama haus
where his grandmother lived. “I wouldn't want him to think that I'm one of them.”
Sara laid a small brown hand on the dashboard of Katie's buggy. “If you're intimidated by Freeman, I'm sure I can get someone else to take the job. I wouldn't want to force you to do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.”
“I'm not
intimidated
by him.” Katie sat up a little straighter, tightened the reins in her hands and gazed ahead at the farmhouse. “Certainly not.” She was probably making too much of a small incident. Freeman
had
made a remark about her bossiness to a friend of her brother's not long after the wedding incident, but he'd probably forgotten all about the unpleasantness by now.
“Good.” Sara patted Katie's knee. “Then there's no reason to keep them waiting any longer. The sooner you start, the sooner you can put the house in order.”
* * *
“Well, Uncle Jehu, if you hired a housekeeper without my say-so, you can just
un-hire
her.” Freeman lay propped up on pillows in a daybed against the kitchen wall. “We need a strange woman rattling around here about as much as I need another broken leg.”
“Now, boy, calm yourself,” the older man said quietly in Deitsch. His arthritis-gnarled fingers moved, twisting a cord in a continuous game of cat's cradle, forming one shape after another. “It's only temporary. A younger pair of willing hands might bring some order to this mess we call a house.”
Freeman glanced away. His uncle meant no insult. Calling him
boy
was a term of affection, but Freeman felt it was demeaning sometimes. He was thirty-five years old and he'd been running the family mill since he was twenty. Everyone in their Amish community accepted him as a grown man and head of this house, but because he'd never married, his uncle still thought of him as a stripling.
Uncle Jehu gestured with his chin in the general direction of the kitchen sink where Freeman's grandmother stood washing their breakfast dishes. “No insult meant to you, Ivy.”
Freeman's paternal grandmother bobbed her head in agreement. “None taken. I said from the start when I came to live here I wouldn't be anyone's housekeeper. I've plenty of chores to keep me busy at my own place, not to mention waiting on customers at the mill. And what with my arthritis, I can't do it all.” She eyed her grandson, sitting up in the bed, his leg cast from ankle to upper thigh, resting in a cradle of homemade quilts. “Jehu's right, Freeman. This house can stand a good cleaning. There are more cobwebs in this kitchen than the hayloft.”
“You think I don't see them?” Freeman swallowed his rising impatience and forced himself not to raise his voice. “As soon as I get this cast off, I'll
redd
it all up. I did fine before I broke my leg, didn't I?” He still felt like a fool, breaking his leg the way he did. Anyone who'd been raised around farm animals should have known to take care and get a friend to lend a hand. He'd just been too sure of himself, and his own pride had gotten the better of him.
Ivy shook a soapy finger at him. “Stop fussing and make the best of it.” She dipped a coffee cup in rinse water and stacked it in the drainer. “Maybe the Lord put this hurdle in your path to make you take stock of your own shortcomings. You've a good heart. You're always eager to help others, but you've never had the grace to accept help when you need it.” She drew her mouth into a tight purse and nodded. “Jehu's already arranged the girl's hire for two weeks.”
“And she's coming this morning,” his uncle said as he twisted the string into a particularly intricate pattern. “So accept it gracefully and make her welcome.”
A motor vehicle horn beeped from the parking lot.
“Another customer,” Grossmama declared, quickly drying her hands on a dishtowel. “We're going to have another busy one at the mill. Didn't I say that buying those muslin bags with
Kemp's
printed on them and advertising would pay off? The Englishers drive from all over the state to get our stone-ground bread flour.” Retrieving her black bonnet from the table, she put it on over her prayer
kapp
, and bustled out the door.
“With a housekeeper, we might get something to eat other than oatmeal,” Uncle Jehu offered his nephew by way of consolation.
“I heard that!” his grandmother
called back through the screen door
.
“Nothing wrong with oatmeal. I eat it every day, and I've never been sick a day in my life.”
“Never sick a day in her life,” his uncle repeated under his breath.
Freeman couldn't help chuckling. He was as tired of oatmeal as Uncle Jehu. There was nothing wrong with his grandmother's oatmeal. It was tasty and filling, but after eating it every morning since he was discharged from the hospital, he longed for pork sausage, bacon, over-easy eggs and home fries. And he was tired of her chicken noodle soup that they ate for dinner and supper most days, unless a neighbor was kind enough to drop by with a meal. “A few more days and I'll be up and about,” he told his uncle. “I can take over the cooking, like I used to.”
His uncle scoffed. “Unless you want to end up back in the hospital, you'll follow doctor's orders. A broken thighbone's a serious thing. In the meantime, the house is getting away from us, and so is the laundry.” He shook his head. “It's a good thing I'm blind. Otherwise I would have been ashamed to go to church in a shirt that's been worn three Sundays and not been washed and ironed.”
“No. Housekeeper,” Freeman repeated firmly, emphasizing each syllable.
Jehu's terrier, Tip, leaped off the bed and ran barking to the door.
“Too late.” Uncle Jehu broke into a self-satisfied grin. “Sounds like a buggy coming. Must be Sara Yoder and her girl now.”
“You should send her back. We don't need her,” Freeman protested, but only half-heartedly. He knew the battle was lost. He wouldn't hurt the poor girl's feelings by sending her away now that she was here. He would have to make the best of it.
“
Ne
. You heard Ivy. I already hired her.” Jehu didn't sound a bit repentant; in fact, he seemed quite pleased with himself.
Freeman had a lot of respect for his mother's oldest brother, and more than that, he loved him. It was a pity when a man couldn't be master in his own house. Freeman was used to having his grandmother living in the
grossmama haus.
She'd been part of the household even before his parents died, and the two of them got along as easily as chicken and dumplings. But Uncle Jehu had only come to live with him the previous summer and didn't always seem to understand that Freeman liked to do things his own way. Caring for his uncle was his responsibility, and he was glad to do it, but he didn't want to have decisions made for him as if he were still a child.
“Fine,” Freeman muttered, feeling frustrated that he couldn't even get up to greet Sara and the housekeeper properly. It was demeaning to be laid out in a bed like this. But after a complication the previous week, his surgeon had been adamant. Freeman needed to keep his leg elevated at all times for another three days. “Who is this housekeeper? Do I know her?”
“She's from Apple Valley church district, but the two of you have probably crossed paths somewhere.”
“You can at least tell me her name if you're forcing me to have her in my house.”
His uncle looked up, sightless brown eyes calm and peaceful. “Name's Katie. Katie Byler.”
“Katie Byler!” Freeman repeated. “Absolutely not.” He flinched as he spoke and pain shot up his leg. He groaned, reaching down to steady his casted leg. “Not Katie Byler, Uncle Jehu. Anyone but Katie Byler.” He frowned. “She's the bossiest woman I ever met.”
His uncle chuckled. “I thought you said your
mudder
was the bossiest woman you ever met.
Ya
, I distinctly remember you saying that.” He rose, tucked his loop of string into his trousers' pocket and made his way to the door. He chuckled again. “And maybe my sister was. But I never saw that it did your father any harm.”
“Please, Uncle Jehu,” Freeman groaned. “Get someone else.
Anybody
else.”
“Too late,” his uncle proclaimed. He pushed open the door and grinned. “Sara, Katie. Come on in. Freeman and I've been waiting for you.”
* * *
Katie followed Sara into the Kemp house, pausing just inside the doorway to allow her vision to adjust to the interior after the bright July sunshine.
“Here's Katie,” Sara announced, “just as I promised, Jehu. She'll lend a hand with the housework until he's back on his feet.” She motioned Katie to approach the bed. “I think you two already know each other.”
“Ya,”
Freeman admitted gruffly. “We do.”
“We're so glad you could come to help out,” his uncle said. “As you can see by this mess, you haven't come a day too early.”
Katie removed her black bonnet, straightened her spine, and took in a deep breath. The girls were right about one thing; Freeman Kemp wasn't hard on the eyes. Even lying flat in a bed, one leg encased in an uncomfortable-looking cast, he was still a striking figure of a man. The indoor pallor and the pain lines at the corners of his mouth couldn't hide the clean lines of his masculine jaw, his white, even teeth, or his straight, well-formed nose and forehead. His wavy brown hair badly needed a haircut, and he had at least a week's growth of dark beard, but the sleeveless cotton undershirt revealed a tanned neck, and broad, muscular shoulders and arms.
